A Good Man Is Hard to FindA Short Story
by Cloud Dancer1014
Summary: Crossover between Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find", and a series of books by Tim Dorsey. During a hot, humid Florida night, an interesting visitor pops into a bar for a drink . . .


**This story was written during a Composition III class as a project, but I found that it would make a lot of sense as a fanfiction. Mahoney is from a series of books written by the great Floridian author Tim Dorsey. Anything pertaining to 'The Misfit' belongs to a short story by Flannery O'Connor called "A Good Man is Hard to Find". Everything else belongs to me. **

**Reviews and critiques are appreciated, and will be put to good use. If you feel the need to flame me, go ahead. All it will do is make you look like an idiot, and give me a source of heat so that I might have a warm meal inside my dorm room. **

**And for those who feel like I'm putting down Florida, or over-exaggerating, (1) I am a native Floridian, and (2) if anything, I'm UNDER-EXAGGERATING! If you don't believe me, try turning on the news, or picking up one of Tim Dorsey's books. It'll be an eye-opener . . .**

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It was a hot, humid night in Sarasota, Florida, and the bar's usual customers were coming in. A couple of prostitutes were sitting in one of the corner booths, waiting for their clientele to become drunk enough for them. In the other sat a drug dealer and a couple of college students, a girl and two boys. They were having a conversation, and the bartender couldn't help but stare at them. Normally, the kids would have been long gone by now with their stash, but they were hanging around tonight, stealing glances over at the bar for some reason. It made the bartender feel a little worried, but he had a job to do, so he walked back to his post.

As he poured and served drinks to the usual drunks, he couldn't help but notice that they seemed a bit too . . . quiet. Normally they would be trying to get up to the other side, trying to steal a free drink while he wasn't looking, and picking fights with each other. Tonight, however, they seemed to be gravitating more towards the left side of the bar. The bartender looked over to the right side to see a tall, middle-aged man wearing a tropical shirt and a tweed jacket. A hat, looking like something out of a 1940s detective show sat on the bar next to him.

The bartender walked over to the man, and asked "Well, what will it be, stranger?"

The man looked up at the bartender with firm, keen eyes, which unnerved the bartender, since most of his regular customers never had that kind of look.

"You wouldn't happen to have some Jack Daniels back there, would you Louie?"

At this the bartender stepped back, a look of shock on his face. "How did you know my name was Louie?" he inquired.

"You just look like a Louie," said the man, "now how about that drink?"

The bartender turned around and grabbed the bottle of alcohol and poured the stranger out a shot. "I haven't seen you around before, stranger. Are you new here in town or something?"

"No, I'm just here on break. The name's Mahoney, I'm a detective."

The bartender froze at this. No wonder everyone was on edge tonight, he thought. He glanced over at the table where the hookers were sitting, and realized that they were inching their way towards the door. On the other side, the drug dealer was reaching for his waistband, where his weapon was probably hidden. Everyone else just sat staring at the man, who didn't even seem to notice. The tension was almost unbearable.

The bartender decided that it would probably be best to make some small talk. "So what brings you to Sarasota?" Too late, he realized that the answer would probably set everyone into action, and got ready to duck under the bar just in case. He needn't to have worried.

"I'm here on vacation. I had to get away from Miami. Too many crazy people down there," said the detective. At this, the whole room seemed to relax. There was a flash of green and white over at the dealer's table, and suddenly the college students got up and hurried to the door, probably relieved at the fact that they weren't about to get busted. The girl got out the door first, but as she left the room, one of the guys drunkenly tripped, and as he went down, the bartender heard the sound of ripping fabric, and then a loud shriek.

Mahoney turned at this, and the bar patrons near the door got up to look. The bartender shook his head. "Ignore it. The idiot just ripped his girlfriend's skirt. Nothing really illegal . . . you wouldn't happen to have come to this bar before, have you?"

As the detective turned back to the bar, many of the other customers quietly left the bar. "I've visited Sarasota once before, but only for a day or two, and never at this bar. Why do you ask?"

The bartender leaned on the bar, trying not to wince at the sudden loss of customers, and said "Well, it just seems like I've heard your name before, somewhere. Are you sure we've never met?"

"I'm positive, but now that you mention it, I was involved in an arrest a few years back over at a local bank."

A light bulb seemed to go off in the bartender's head, and he smiled, thinking that the longer he kept the cop talking, the more he might be able to charge him later. "Oh yeah, now I remember! Weren't you the cop who managed to bring in that one guy, the Mischief?"

The detective shook his head. "His name was the Misfit, not the Mischief. I ran into the guy in a hostage situation over at the Lydian Bank. The guy had tried to rob it, but I was acting undercover, and managed to shoot his partners before they could do anything. The Misfit gave himself up soon after."

The bartender shook his head sadly. "Such a pity. He could have done the world a favor by getting himself killed. Would have made a better story, too. Did you hear what the bastard did to that one family up in Georgia? He even killed a baby! What is this world coming to?"

Mahoney poured himself another shot, swallowed it all in one gulp, and replied, "I heard about the whole thing and more. He executed the whole family just because the old lady realized who he was. Would you believe that all he was planning to do at the time was help them with their car?"

Louie gave him a funny look. "No, I never heard that part. Wasn't in the newspaper. How do you know that?"

"Right after we read him his rights, I ended up being the one driving him to the station. After a few minutes, the guy starts rambling about some of the things he's done. He spent most of his time talking about that family, and kept repeating something about him being 'the old woman's son', or something like that. He wouldn't stop, either. Kept on calling for Billy boy, or something like that." The detective poured out the last of the bottle, and set the cup down. "The guy never did seem like he was when he was up north; he kept leaving behind things that he would normally clean up. Hell, I think the Misfit wanted to be caught."

The bartender let out a laugh. "Now why would he want something like that? What was he, crazy?"

"To tell you the truth, he's probably the sanest one on the streets. Trust me, I've seen much worse."

"How bad?"

"Do you recall the murders that went on during the World Series? Would you believe it they were all done by the same person?"

Louie gave a look of disbelief. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope, and he's not even the worst of the crazies we have here. Welcome to Florida, where the psychopaths outnumber the sane people three to one!"

"Remember the good old days, when little old ladies were polite and stayed at home?"

"Remember when kids would respect their elders?"

"Remember when having a cat was good, with a side of mashed potatoes and celery?"

Detective Mahoney gave the bartender a look, and Louie's face turned red. "My family used to live over in Palm Beach."

The detective nodded his head in understanding, and got up to pay. "How much do I owe you?"

At this, Louie paused. He was planning on over-charging the cop, but from what the bartender had heard, it seemed like Mahoney wasn't that bad. In fact, he kind of liked the guy. On the other hand, if anyone found out that he charged a cop the normal price, he'd lose face, and that was the only thing that had kept him alive in this dump. On the other hand . . .

"Your money's no good here, cop, now get out of here!"

Instead of getting offended, like Louie thought he would, the detective nodded his head, thanked him, and started staggering out the door. Louie stared out after him for another few moments, and then looked over at the almost empty bar, where the few remaining patrons gave him the evil eye. The bartender scowled back at them until they looked away, then went back to cleaning the bar, muttering to himself. Then he paused.

"It takes all kinds," he said grimly, then went back to work.

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**Again, review if you want, and critique if you can. All flaming will do is save me money on heating this winter. Thank you for reading!**


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